The Evidence of Things Not Seen
by norfintroll
Summary: Set after Supernatural S10 E9. Dean, racked with guilt over killing humans under the influence of the Mark, is with Sam hunting a vampire nest when he meets a woman with guilt-and fighting skills-to match his own. Rated M to be safe. Dean/Faith. Supernatural belongs to the estimable Mr. Kripke, Buffy to the equally estimable Mr. Whedon. Reviews appreciated!
1. Chapter 1

" **The Evidence of Things Not Seen"**

 **Chapter 1**

Podunkville, USA, a place with five churches and five bars, alternating with each other on the main road through town. It was night; the churches were closed, the bars were open. Yellow rays of light from the street lamps, classic rock echoing every time a door opened, dusty farm trucks lined up next to the sidewalk.

"This the place, Sam?" Dean Winchester eased his Impala into a parking spot across from one of the seedier joints, squinting through the darkness at the sign. "—OHN'S TAV—R—," the red neon spelled out, flickering and buzzing against a drizzle of rain on this unseasonably warm night.

"Yeah, looks like it." Sam swung his long legs out of the passenger side and followed Dean across the road, waving to the driver of a red pickup who stopped to let them cross. "All of the people who disappeared were last seen at this bar."

"And you said the last disappearance happened just last night, right?"

"That's right." Sam paused, his hand on the door, looking at his brother in the uneasy glow of a porch lamp full of dead bugs. "You sure you're okay?"

Dean hesitated, his lips tightening just a bit. "I'm good, Sam."

Sam nodded, but still kept a wary eye on his brother as he followed him into the building. He knew Dean wasn't good. He wasn't okay. He'd lost control and slaughtered a group of thugs just a couple of weeks ago. Then he'd beat the living crap out of Charlie Bradbury…granted, _evil_ Charlie Bradbury, but the fact remained that he'd lost control of himself again. The Mark of Cain was burning Dean up from the inside, and there was always a chance that he could put a knife through anybody who looked at him sideways.

But, damn it, they had a case, and they couldn't just ignore something like this. In the past two weeks, five people had disappeared without a trace, and this town was way too small for something like that to be coincidence.

The Winchesters stopped inside the door for a moment, scanning the room. The ceiling, hung with bare bulbs on wires, barely cleared Sam's head, and the lights blinded him for a second, so he had to blink when he heard Dean's very soft whistle.

"Would you look at that, Sam," he murmured, easing his way into the room as he spoke, and Sam followed the nod of his brother's head.

"Dean," he said automatically, annoyed, "we're on a case, remember?" But his voice trailed off a bit as he focused on the woman sitting at the end of the bar. Really, this time he couldn't blame Dean.

She was mid-thirties, maybe, wearing a leather jacket and sleek, supple, fluid leather leggings. Her body moved easily, gracefully, as she shifted on the bar stool and glanced over her shoulder, her long dark hair dropping around her face. Her eyes were bright, alert, searching. They swept over the brothers, came back, paused a second, and moved on.

"She's the whole package, Sammy." Dean was already easing his way through the crowded room.

"Hey." Sam put his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Remember? I thought you'd sworn off wine, women, and song. We're working tonight."

"I am working." Dean didn't turn his head. "We need to ask questions, gather information. That's just what I'm going to do. Don't worry, I'll hold off on the whiskey." He slipped between tables like an eel and slid onto a stool next to the woman.

Sam couldn't hold back a smile, although his forehead was still wrinkled. It was good to see a spark of the old Dean tonight. He still watched his brother out of the corner of his eye as he sat down at a table and fiddled with the laminated edge of a crusty menu. That girl…something about her. She didn't fit in here. Dean was leaning closer to her, his old grin flashing for a second across his face.

"What'll it be, honey?" The waitress smiled at him with a mouth half-full of yellow snaggle teeth. Sam had seen monsters with cleaner, straighter fangs than that. He suppressed a flinch as she leaned close, beaming at him. Her greasy peroxide hair brushed his forehead.

"Just a cup of coffee, please," he said, forcing himself to smile back. Damn you, Dean, he was thinking. But he didn't really mean it. Let his brother have a moment to forget his problems.

The waitress looked disappointed. "Don't you want something to eat?" She rested her order pad against her sagging chest. "We've got a bacon cheeseburger special tonight."

"Oh, God…I mean, um, maybe a sandwich…do you have grilled cheese?" He needed to be nice to this waitress. She probably knew every one of the people who had disappeared, and he got the feeling she'd be more than willing to talk.

"Be right back, honey." She brushed her hand against his shoulder and trotted off to the kitchen.

Sam looked around the room. It was like a hundred other Midwest bars, dim, smoky, loud, and apparently it was karaoke night. A burly man with a lumberjack beard was taking the stage at the end of the room, picking up the mike to a chorus of whistles and laughter from his friends nearby.

Sam smiled a little as the big man threw himself into "Friends in Low Places" with more enthusiasm than pitch. The noise level in the room increased as people cheered him on.

"Here you go!" The waitress's voice was in Sam's ear, and he jumped. He read her nametag as he turned his head. "So, Gina, good crowd tonight?"

"Oh, no, not nearly as many as usual." Gina shook her head, opening her mouth and then closing it again. She wiped her hands on the sides of her blue dress, leaving slight grease marks on the stiff cotton.

"Is that because of the disappearances?" Sam asked.

"Oh. So you know about that already."

"I'm a reporter. Sam Brady." He held out his hand and shook hers. "You wanna talk to me about it?"

"Well, I don't think my boss will like it very much if I talk to a reporter." Gina threw a glance towards the kitchen. "Besides, I don't know very much about it."

"All the people who disappeared were last seen here, right?" Sam asked. "Did you know them?"

"Yeah. All of them. But just because they were last seen here, doesn't mean much. They all lived alone, and it was a couple days before anybody figured out they had disappeared. This is just the last place anybody could _remember_ seeing any of them."

"Who were they?"

"Nobody special." Gina shrugged. "A couple of farm workers, some guy from the autobody shop…it's a small town, and we all know each other, but these were the loners. People who didn't talk, didn't hang out, didn't go to church."

"Anything else you can remember?"

"Just one thing." Gina put her hand on Sam's shoulder. "I told the police this, too. _Somebody_ should talk to Starlene Griffin."

"And she is?"

"She's our local madam." Gina pronounced the old-fashioned word with exaggeration, turning her head on one side with a wink. "Runs a place outside the city limits. You hardly see Starlene at all—she doesn't come into town—but you see her girls now and again. They're all meaner than snakes, and I wouldn't put it past them to dump some guy's body in a ditch after they'd taken all his money. They've got a cold look in their eyes, all of them. Makes me shiver." Her grip tightened on Sam's shoulder.

"Ok. Thanks, Gina. You've been very helpful." Sam smiled at her, closing the little notebook he had taken out.

"Anything else I can help you with, _honey_?"

"No. No, thanks. I'm good, really."

She walked away slowly, glancing backwards. "If you need anything, just let me know."

Sam picked up his grilled cheese sandwich. It was soggy and cold, overloaded with Velveeta. He put it down untouched.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Faith leaned one elbow on the bar and glanced at herself in the mirror behind the bottles. She looked bored. She _was_ bored. She'd been sitting here two hours, she'd been hit on twenty-three times already, and she hadn't spotted a single vampire.

She knew there were vampires around here somewhere. She could sense it in every fiber of her taut body. All these years of hunting vamps—she knew, she could almost smell it. She wasn't a Slayer for nothing.

When she came to town, following up on some odd stories she'd read in the news, she'd felt the prickle up her spine immediately. Not fear, just the warning that she'd learned to listen to. So she'd parked her red 1969 Camaro outside the most run-down bar she could find and gone inside to wait and watch.

She really shouldn't drive around such a recognizable car, she knew that. But she loved that baby. After the Hellmouth collapse in Sunnydale, it had taken her a little while to get the money for it, since she'd sworn off stealing for personal benefit. The car was her friend now, her faithful companion. She'd driven it all these years—over a decade—while she hunted down vamps across the country.

Her only friend, she thought with a twisted smile, half-shutting her eyes against the smoky air of the bar. Sure, she had some acquaintances, people who would let her crash on their couch for a night or three. She'd slept with her share of men, too: when she needed it, or when the loneliness was too much to stand. They didn't satisfy her emptiness, but she didn't expect them to. She couldn't tell them her life story; they wouldn't understand.

And tonight her old crime was gnawing at her conscience. That happened less often now that she'd learned to accept her responsibility, but sometimes the guilt still sneaked up and drowned her in a black mood. God, she wished she could take on a vamp right now. Preferably one who would put up a good fight.

The door opened and she turned hopefully, letting her hair shield her face. Not vamps. Two men: one of them hulking in the doorway, his head practically touching the ceiling, and another one with less gigantic proportions following him. Both of them wearing jeans and cargo jackets, boots—the whole Midwest getup.

The shorter one was looking at her. Faith knew it, and she kept her eyes away, sending out the "just-leave-me-alone" vibe with all her strength. It didn't work. He slid onto a bar stool and she groaned inwardly.

"What're you having, bud?" the bartender asked.

"Just a beer," the man replied, after a flicker of hesitation. The bartender slid it in front of him, foaming, golden amber in the glass, but Faith noticed that her new companion didn't touch it.

He looked at her instead, turning towards her, one hand resting on the counter. He had an alertness about him, a quickness to his movement, that Faith liked. And he wasn't bad to look at either.

But she had a job to do. She steeled herself against the pick-up lines, half-closing her eyes. When there was dead silence she opened them again.

"Say it," she said impatiently.

"Say what?" He smiled a little, not as wide; now she saw that there was something tired and sad around his eyes.

"Whatever pickup line you're going to say," Faith replied. "Just get it out of the way. You were trying to come up with one, weren't you?"

"One?" the man asked innocently. "I came up with about thirty on the way over here."

His grin was so impish that Faith couldn't help smiling back. If only she wasn't working…there was something about this guy.

He held out his hand. "Dean," he said simply.

"Faith." His grip was as firm as her own.

"You from around here?" he asked, turning on his stool so he could see the room. His eyes flicked back and forth, gauging everyone.

"No. You?" Faith watched him and the crowd in the room, the big man singing karaoke. She had her eye on someone now; a dark-haired woman who'd come in from the street and was gliding easily among the tables to the far end of the bar. All her senses had come to life, alert, tingling. There it was—the creature she'd been waiting for all night. But she couldn't let this guy sitting next to her see what she was thinking.

"Naw, just passing through," Dean said. Still he did not touch his beer. His eyes followed hers to the woman at the end of the bar, then flicked back, not seeing what she saw. Of course he didn't, Faith told herself. This poor guy didn't know vampires were real.

"You're not drinking," she said suddenly.

He cocked one eyebrow at her. "Neither are you. That's a virgin Bloody Mary."

"How do you know?" Faith asked a little more sharply than she'd intended.

"Saw the bartender making it for you when we came in. There's not a drop of alcohol in it, is there?"

He was right, after all. Faith bit her lip. Damn, she'd underestimated this man; and with the realization, a slight tingle ran up her spine. There really _was_ something about him, and maybe that something was what triggered her next words.

"I used to drink to try to drown my sorrows. Then I realized that regrets are immortal."

Some deeper shade of pain clicked behind Dean's eyes, like the way the sky turned green before a storm. "Isn't that the truth," he said, and his left hand rubbed at his right arm as if something was hurting him there. Then he returned to his bantering tone, almost physically shrugging off whatever cloud had hung over him. "So what's your secret sorrow? I'm all ears."

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Faith said dryly. Her eyes flickered again to the vamp at the end of the bar. The creature was sizing everyone up, picking a victim; she seemed acquainted with the crowd, as if she'd been here before. No doubt she was connected to the recent disappearances.

"Oh, come on. It can't be that bad." Dean was still teasing, needling her. Faith had the feeling that he was doing it as much to distract himself as to flirt with her. She knew pain when she saw it, and this man had deep wells of hurt inside him.

"I'm not really in the habit of talking about my private life to complete strangers," she said, wishing she'd ordered an actual drink.

"Then let's take a walk and get to know each other," Dean suggested.

Faith laughed. "Not a chance."

"What?" He looked genuinely hurt. "Really?"

"Sorry," she said. "It's not your night. Besides, I think the guy you came in with wants to talk to you." She'd noticed the taller man giving Dean several pointed head nods in the past few minutes while scribbling in a notebook.

"Oh, Sam?" Dean glanced over his shoulder. "That's my brother, the party pooper."

Faith watched him walk across the room to his brother. She liked the way he moved: confident, like a cat that could become a tiger at any second. Really, if she wasn't working, she would have been tempted to make time with the guy, shoot a little pool, take a walk...

As she sat and unobtrusively watched the vampire work the room, she realized that she wasn't the only one who was tempted. The vamp had her eye on the brothers too. She'd spotted them and recognized them as strangers, people who wouldn't be missed by the town.

Oddly enough, as she watched the dark-haired vampire ease closer to Sam and Dean's table, Faith felt anger stirring in her chest. Her wooden stake was inside her right boot, snug between skin and leather. Her fingers twitched to pull it out and stab that vamp through the heart. Look at her, the way she was eyeing Dean like he was good enough to eat.

The brothers were talking together, heads bent close over the notebook. They rose simultaneously and headed for the door, obviously on a mission. It was odd. It was definitely odd. But right now Faith was more worried about the vampire slipping through the barroom after them.

Not on her watch. Leaving a tip on the counter, she followed about thirty seconds behind, coming out into the hot night where the neon sign glowed above the door.

"Oh, please, could y'all help me?" It was that vampire bitch talking to the brothers. Faith stood back in the shadows, watching. "I parked down here, and my car won't start." She pointed to the alley she had just passed, a narrow, smelly lane squeezed between the buildings.

"Oh yeah?" Dean asked easily. The brothers turned towards the vamp. "I'm good with cars. I'll take a look."

The glance that passed between the brothers was hard to read. Faith noticed it from her hiding place. "You got it, Dean?" Sam asked quietly, and she had the distinct feeling he wasn't talking about the car.

"I'm good, Sam." Dean followed close behind the vamp as she swayed her hips and walked down into the darkness of the alley. Sam was right behind him, and Faith moved like a shadow in the night as she slipped along the edge of the buildings.

"See? I can't start it." The vamp gestured helplessly at an old beater with the hood propped up. "I don't know anything about cars."

She was good; she was quite an actress, really. Those poor brothers would be dead meat, Faith thought, if she hadn't happened to be there tonight. Her wooden stake was already in her hand as she crouched low, waiting.

The attack came as Dean bent over the engine of the car. Two vampires sprinted out of nowhere and pushed Sam back against a wall, and the female practically dived at Dean, fangs exposed and gleaming.

Faith was up and running as it happened. A fourth vampire materialized in front of her, and she struck with her stake almost off-handedly, leaving a pile of ash in her wake. But she stopped short as Dean turned on the female, a machete appearing almost magically in his hand. The vamp's head rolled on the ground as the silvery blade slashed through the air.

What stood out to Faith in that moment were Dean's eyes. Rage. Lust for blood. Something so deep and primal that it took her back years, to that moment when her life had changed forever. That look struck a chord in her own soul that reverberated like a deep bass note through her body. For a split second she met his eyes, and then she ducked and turned, kicking back another vampire that had tried to leap on her from behind. She struck so hard that her stake went through his heart and into the asphalt beneath him.

It was all over in about fifteen seconds. Sam had taken down one vamp, and Dean finished off the other one with a vicious swing of his machete.

"You good?" Sam asked his brother, panting, an anxious look on his face.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good." Dean closed his eyes for a second, covering his right arm with his other hand and squeezing it as if something was hurting him, the same gesture he'd made in the bar. His eyes snapped open again. "Who the hell are _you_?" he said to Faith.

"Questions later." Faith glanced at the end of the alley. "We need to get out of here first." She moved quickly past the brothers and out into the street again, shoving aside the vamp bodies that the brothers had left, hoping they wouldn't be seen immediately. "Dang, why don't you all use stakes?" she said irritably. "Look at this mess."

"Stakes aren't actually supposed to work on vampires," Sam said as the brothers came up level with her under a street light. "It's a myth."

Faith gave a short laugh. "Don't knock it 'til you've tried it, buddy." She was walking fast, and stopped abruptly at the door of her car. "Seriously. You never knew you could kill with a stake? You just need the right kind of wood. No muss, no fuss. Well, see ya." She opened the door.

"Wait a minute." Dean put his hand on the roof of her car. "What kind of wood?"

"Not the kind of wood you have, buddy." She flashed a wry smile and tried to step into her car, but Dean moved in closer.

"You're a hunter?" he said.

"A hunter?" Faith bit her lip, her eyes flickering off down the road. "Not exactly."

"Come on. You're a natural. What do you mean, not exactly?" Dean was leaning against her car, blocking her. He wasn't going anywhere until he got what he wanted. Sam was standing by, quiet but watchful.

Faith sighed impatiently. "I hate hunters," she said. "They ask more questions than anybody I know, and they gossip like old ladies. Look, we need to get out of here—somebody could have seen us in the alley. You've done your part, why don't you get out of town now and let me handle the rest of the vampires? I know they've got a hideout somewhere around here, I just need to find it."

"We're not leaving," Sam said. "But you're right, we need to regroup. I noticed a motel on the road into town. Why don't we go there and make a plan?"

"Great," Faith said. "I'll follow you out there." Not that she was planning on that. Once she'd given these brothers the slip, she could find the vamp nest and take care of it before they got themselves killed. She was doing them a favor, really. Hunters risked their lives every day, and there was no need for these two good-looking young men to get involved in what her spidey senses told her could be a particularly nasty nest of vampires.

Dean tossed his brother a set of keys; they glinted in the streetlight, arcing through the air and landing in Sam's hand. "I'll hitch a ride with you," he said with a wink, and he was in the passenger seat before Faith could stop him. Damn, he was fast—almost unnaturally fast.

So she was stuck, at least for now. What did she have to do to get rid of these guys? Give them roofies? Faith rolled her eyes and slid behind the wheel, revving the engine and making the tires squeal on the road out of town.


End file.
